My Most Frustrating Thing About Writing

Last week I did an interview for our local newspaper here in Hanover. The reporter asked me what my favorite thing about being a writer was. I had to think because there are so many things I love about being a writer. Finally, I gave a very politician-like response and gave her multiple answers, the sense of accomplishment, the creative outlet, knowing someone took time out of her busy day to read something I wrote, the opportunity to possibly change the way someone thinks or lives through the power of story. I know, it was very lame of me not to give her one thing, my favorite thing.

But when she asked what the most frustrating thing about being a writer was I didn’t hesitate: finding the time. I must confess something here, I envy those authors who can do this thing full-time. I often wonder if I could be a better writer, a more prolific writer, a less frustrated writer if I only had more time to write. I have time because I make it. I get up early and pound away on the keys while still half-asleep sometimes. I squeeze it in here and there, most of the time not during my prime time for writing. When I’m feeling inspired I’m usually working. I get maybe an hour a day for writing.

Now, I’m not complaining. I know it sounds like I am but, trust me, I’ve very grateful to just be writing. I know the statistics and odds of someone, anyone, getting to do what I do and they are staggering and humbling. I take none of it for granted. But oh to have more time, to be able to write when I’m actually feeling it instead of trying to manufacture inspiration. To be able to write when I’m fully awake and thinking clearly.

I hear about some of these other writers who can write three, four, five hours a day and can feel the green oozing into my skin. Maybe someday I’ll be blessed to do that but for now I’m happy and blessed to just be writing, whenever I can, wherever I can. For now I’ll keep working hard, hour by hour, day by day, to produce stories that entertain and challenge and hope and pray like mad that I can be a blessing to someone else . . . in spite of my own frustrations.